


The Case Sherlock Never Solved, One Final Puzzle

by PoisonIvy0212



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Donovan Is A Bitch, Heartbreak, I'm Sorry, John is an idiot, M/M, You May Cry, untold feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonIvy0212/pseuds/PoisonIvy0212
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Left alone in the world John has nothing but time to reflect, how could he have not seen the signs sooner? Or maybe he should have just said something on the phone...He didn't realise until it was too late...</p>
<p>Spoiler Alert if you haven't seen Season 2 episode 3!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case Sherlock Never Solved, One Final Puzzle

**Author's Note:**

> I wondered whether John ever wrote another blog about his favourite consulting detective. So amongst the tears of season 2's finale I began to write this, and yes it has taken me this long to finish it! 
> 
> I think it goes without saying that the characters aren't mine, neither are the lyrics at the end!!
> 
> Italics will be John's blog (just to make it clear what he is trying to tell people), everything else is inner musings etc. Quotes are as accurate as I could make them, I rewatched the final scenes a few times just to get the words between John and Sherlock right.
> 
> I hope you like it...

#### The Case Sherlock Never Solved, One Final Puzzle. 

Blink, blink, blink goes the cursor. All there was on the blank page was a title. The Case Sherlock Holmes Never Solved. Catchy? That’s what John Watson thought as he stared at his blog once more. Eventually words began to appear upon the page; the final mystery of Sherlock Holmes, the one he never solved before his death…no his _**tragic**_ death.

_When was it? When did John Hamish Watson find himself in love with Sherlock Holmes? Was it a cheesy romance novel scene involving love at first sight? No when they first met he was somewhat confused by the younger man’s flippant attitude even if he did lend him his phone. But then there was that adorable moment in 221B, when Sherlock became flustered because his things were cluttering up the place and John had commented._ But that wasn't the moment John fell in love with the man that would become his best friend either.

What did it matter now anyway? He was gone. After everything they’d been through together. The great Sherlock Holmes was declared a fraud and took his own life 

_What is the point in writing this blog? The man you all declared akin to a hero was publicly humiliated and abandoned by his so called fans. Apparently the saying was correct; the bigger they are the harder they fall. But Sherlock Holmes didn't just fall; he plummeted to the earth_ and took John’s heart with him, shattering it into a million little shards.

 

The cursor continued to blink steadily, reminding the blogger of his life before the great consulting detective, before Baker’s Street, how he would stare at the screen waiting for something interesting in his life to happen. After all he had often said to his therapist nothing ever happened to him. But there he had been; sharp cheekbones, black curly hair and piercing grey-blue eyes that could/would take you apart and put you back together in less than a minute. Of course it depended on his level of boredom; the wall in 221B could vouch for that. 

_I first met Sherlock after he’d been whipping a corpse in St Bart’s morgue. I had been wondering around the park when I met an old friend, it was an odd coincidence that both a ‘friend’ of his and myself were looking for a place to live along with someone to live with._ **'Sherlock didn’t believe in coincidence.’** John’s mind whispered harshly. 

_In a few minutes he knew I’d been a soldier more specifically he had asked “Afghanistan or Iraq”, knew I was in therapy and my limp was somewhat ‘psychosomatic’. I of course did not believe that, and it wasn’t until later when I realised that it was true._

_That was during the case of the pink woman, **A Study in Pink** as many of you may recall. The restaurant owner had called me Sherlock’s date when we visited Northumberland Street; the memory makes me smile looking back on how outraged I had felt. A lot of things changed that day, and I had only known the man 24 hours. _ _I met his brother that evening too, strange chap is Mycroft. But he seemed to be interested in Sherlock’s well being at the time. I say at the time, because now I am not so certain. Where was he when Sherlock was standing on that ledge saying it was better for everyone?_

John could feel his anger rising at the thought of Mycroft’s words, claiming that he cared about Sherlock but when it truly mattered the man was nowhere in sight. Probably sweeping some government conspiracy under the rug no doubt. ‘What happened the notion of family?’ John wondered, he and Harry had never been close, but still the basic principles still stood! Then again, perhaps Mycroft didn’t want to witness the fruits of his labour? After all he had provided Moriarty with so much information about Sherlock he may as well have handed him Sherlock in a gift box, complete with a bow and tag reading ‘All the best James, Love Mycroft’ 

_“SHERLOCK!” finally I will always remember the fall. The way the horror of what was happening tearing at my throat with the scream and the agony of my best friend committing suicide ripping out my heart. I can still see it now; as I close my eyes for a moment as I type, when I go to bed to try and sleep. All I can see is that fall, the people gathering around the lifeless body of Sherlock Holmes on the footpath outside of the hospital. I will never get to see those grey-blue eyes open again or sparkle with intelligence and impatience as I fail to comprehend something important about a case._

_I am saddened to say that all the good we did together, that moment will always stick out in my mind. Why is it the bad always outweighs the good?_

_He tried to tell me that what had been printed in the papers was true, that Moriarty was an invention. But let me tell you something; if that were true, Sherlock would not have looked so frightened and then so relieved beside the pool that night when I had a bomb strapped to my chest. Moriarty’s doing. Those kinds of reactions you cannot fake. The entire time he and I spoke on the phone…that final goodbye, a suicide note of sorts…I repeatedly told him to shut up as he put himself down. “Nobody could be that clever” he claimed._

Do you believe that? Is that why you are reading this? To prove to yourself that Sherlock Holmes had to be a fake because there are questions that even **he** the world’s only **consulting detective** could not answer.

Does that make you feel better? Those of you who used to look at him in admiration? Who took time away from your busy lives to put love and a great deal of attention into making deerstalker hats? 

_**Blink, blink, blink.**_ The curser is never still, [unlike Sherlock’s heart] even as silent tears roll down John’s cheeks and drop silently onto the keyboard. This was supposed to be helping, but all it’s done is bring up old memories and torn at the very tender wound that is John Watson’s heart. Like ripping out carefully placed stitches. 

_“Let me through I'm a doctor…he’s my friend!” those words became etched in his memory; because despite being a doctor John couldn’t save him, despite being his friend John couldn't protect him._

_“Keep your eyes on me; please can you do this for me.” Those heart breaking words are some of the last words I heard from the greatest man I had the pleasure of knowing. “Goodbye John” I still hear those words echoing in my ears. They are like a whispered song on repeat on those nights that I cannot sleep, they even whisper to me when I am awake._

_Speaking from experience there are nights when I would rather waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares of my time in the field than the haunting feeling that Sherlock is around even when I know he is not. I wish most of all that the pain in my heart would go away._

_It is a strange feeling, looking down on your best friend who is lying in a pool of their own blood unmoving upon the pavement with people surrounding him. I cannot remember what I said, if I said anything at that point in time that I reached his body. I must have said his name a thousand times that day, and as the sky darkened and light rain began to fall I find it somewhat poetic, because it is as if the sky or the heavens above were morning this loss with me._

__**Blink, blink, blink.**_ “Why today?” his therapist’s question still rang in his ears as the rain pounded the pavement, “What happened?” That was a joke of a question. Almost as bad as the '...and how does that make you feel?'_

_‘What happened?’ I was asked that question a few days ago, by a woman who rarely reads the newspaper. Do you really want to know? Sherlock Holmes threw himself of the edge of a building, and I never got to tell him how I felt because up until that moment I didn’t know how I felt. He told me once he wasn’t a hero…I knew he wasn’t a lot of things but he helped me in so many ways that I cannot help but think that in his own way he was my hero. No one will ever be able to convince me otherwise, no matter how many papers are published or police reports filed._

_You know, Sally Donovan once told me that one day Sherlock would get bored…and that we would stand over a body that had been placed there by him. But I guess you were wrong Sally. The body we stood over was his; many times in fact, on the street as blood ran from his head wound and again at his funeral, not because he was bored but because people like you stopped believing in him. Are you happy now Donovan?_

_“The stuff you wanted to say, but didn't say it…say it now.” That is what my therapist advised me in our session, but in that room that is supposed to make patients comfortable with its soft chairs and large open windows, I couldn't say it. So I suppose I should say it now, in a place where I feel that Sherlock would mock me for writing it, let alone say it; but also smile at the gesture._

_**I John Watson loved and still love Sherlock Holmes with all my heart.** _

__  
**So that ladies and gentlemen is the case that Sherlock Holmes never solved. He never solved the puzzle that is the heart of John Hamish Watson, and now that case will turn cold and remain open. I guess this is what it means to be heartbroken?**  


 

_~~P.s. Sherlock…If you by any chance have one miracle left in you…please don’t be dead…for me?~~ _

I’ve never knew what it was to be alone, no  
‘Cause you were always right there for me,  
You were always there waiting,  
But now I come home and it’s not the same, no  
It feels empty and alone…  
 _I can’t believe you’re gone_  
‘In Loving Memory’ – Alter Bridge 

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a while since I posted anything...I'm terrible at actually completing things and posting them, but I hope you enjoyed this.  
> Let me know what you think! Comments are much appreciated, even if its just to tell me I've written John totally wrong!


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